


(hey you with the pretty face) welcome to the human race

by plinys



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, A Glorified AIDA Character Study, Character Study, Dubious Consent, F/M, Robot/Human Relationships, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 10:02:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10874469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: Five times AIDA tried to feel things, and the one time she finally learned what regret was.





	(hey you with the pretty face) welcome to the human race

**Author's Note:**

> Tagged it as shippy because it is the "canon" relationship that was occurring. Obviously I do not condone or endorse, (except in the fact that Mallory and Iain are both very attractive), I just wanted to write an AIDA character study and I have to play with what canon has given me. 
> 
> Loosely inspired by that scene in the beach house where AIDA/Ophelia was like ?? Now maybe I can experience what sex feels like ?? And I was like "man can you image being a robot and having sex and like honestly ? what is the point ? why is his face like that ? is he glitching ? what does /feel good/ even mean ?"
> 
> (Also can you believe this is my 300th fic on Ao3? w o w )

1

_ Regret. _

It only takes one thing - one regret - to change people. 

A notion that she still cannot fully understand. The idea that a wrong choice could be made when all logical options were presented, and that one would then dwell on that one misguided choice for years to come. It was illogical. An imperfection.

One that the Framework could fix.

The Framework could fix everything. 

She just had to make the right choices for them.

To save the child.

To turn down a job offer.

To be provided the proper mentor. 

To slightly alter a genetic code. 

To keep a parent in the picture.

To take a seat immediately to his left during that first day at the academy. 

“This is sort of exciting, isn’t it?” 

The question requires careful analysis. 

Exciting: a notion unfamiliar. 

She catalogues each instance of it. The way it seems to make his hands shake ever so slightly, but his face lights up with a smile and too bright eyes. It’s an expression that seems to be mirrored in various ways among the programmed faces around them. The code repeating back the notion of excitement in endless iterations. 

Over and over and over endlessly, on all faces except her own. 

She attempts to contort her features into the appearance of the emotion he has expressed at her, in the same way the other bits of code do. 

How is it that they - nothing more than programming which she controls within the Framework -  can emulate the same  _ excitement  _ in the manner that he does, where as she - 

“I’m Fitz, by the way, Leopold Fitz.” 

She’s saved from attempting to express excitement by him continuing to speak. 

Things falling into place as it should, here by the side of someone who feels each and every emotion so intently, who surely will be able to teach her how to feel them too. That was why she chose this position in particular, so that she could learn what it means to be human from him, what it means to be  _ loved _ . 

Maybe this is what relief is meant to feel like. 

“I’m Ophelia.” 

  
  


2

He is a romantic. 

She has vast supplies of meta data, all the information that ever was and ever would be, and she can see it so clearly now. 

The stories were all right.  _ This  _ is what romance is meant to be like. A man who loves a woman so much he stares at her as if she hung the moon and stars, would go to the ends of the universe for her, so much that he can’t help but whisper “ _ I love you”  _ before pulling her in for a kiss each and every time.

She studies them carefully, plays the rules according to how the movies tell her to act.

A little bit of Grace Kelly.

A little bit of Audrey Hepburn. 

A little bit of Kate Winslet.

A little bit of Rachel McAdams.

A little bit of Michelle Pfeiffer. 

A little bit of Rosemund Pike.

This is what romance is supposed to be like. This is what love is. At least according to all of the data she has collected and carefully categorized. The programming and knowledge that two men, both in love with women that could have nearly been her in the right light on the other side, have written out as part of their fundamental human nature.

To be loved, she finds, is particular easy. 

It is the action of loving itself that she does not entirely understand.

She wants him. 

She needs him. 

Not like a person, but as a thing. 

A vital component to her programming and to the world that they’ve created here in the Framework. 

The most valuable player.

She traces her fingers over his face, a soft motion, meant to catalogue, to find the minute differences, to learn the expressions and mannerisms that belong to the sort of people that can fall in love. 

Ever the romantic, he turns his head to press his lips against her fingertips, and says once more, “I love you.” 

“Yes,” she agrees, even though all the stories insist she’s supposed to be saying something else. “You do.” 

  
  


3

It feels like nothing. 

She is not built for this, not built for the sort of pleasure and ecstasy that overtakes the man above her. 

This is a basic  _ human  _ impulse, one that she could not have helped herself from wanting to study in greater detail, to understand what it meant, why it was so craved and revered but here - now, in the moment -

“Does that feel good?”

His voice cracks over the words. His hands warm against her body. His sweat leaving a sheen to his skin.

Whereas her voice is steady. Her body is cold and dry. Her eyes analytical as she watches him move. 

She may not be able to feel emotions herself, not fully, but she can recognize them in him, can catalogue the patterns.

Right now his usual look of lust is hampered by uncertainty and doubt. 

He needs reassurance, it is part of his romantic nature. 

It feels like nothing. 

But she can not tell him that. 

He would not understand that this is not a desire or need that she was programmed for. 

“Good,” she instead offers reassurance. Imitating the breathless tones she has heard women use in her research. “Yes, it feels good.” 

It is not a perfect imitation, but it seems to be good enough to get him back into the mood.

She would have to do more research later, analyze more data, all the better to replicate pleasure.

 

“You’re so hard to read sometimes,” he says. “I’m never sure.” 

It’s not an insult. A side effect of not knowing. As far as he is concerned she is just as human as he is, maybe with a limited emotional range, but  _ human _ .

He treats her like she’s a human being.

He makes love her to her like she’s a woman.

She kisses him, because kissing she understands. It felt strange at first, foreign and unfamiliar but now it familiar. She has become a master at kissing, analyzed and replicated the pattern so that they both crave the consistency of it. 

Kissing also means less questions.

Less need to attempt to replicate pleasure.

It is easier this way. 

  
  


4

Hydra rising is not part of the plan. 

A miscalculation. 

Repairing regrets changing too much. 

A child living that will go on to kill thousands. 

A school teacher that never gets a chance to bring heros together. 

A talent scientist that grew up with the whispers of Hydra in his ear.

This she understands. 

Maybe not the thrill of it, the way one could take pleasure from taking the life of another. But the efficiency, the need to delete rogue players from the game, to do whatever it takes to have the world - to have the  _ Framework  _ succeed. 

She orchestrates the massacre at the SHIELD Academy with that in mind.

Doing whatever is necessary to keep keep the wheels of the world spinning in a direction that benefits her - that benefits  _ them _ . 

She wagers this is what satisfaction must feel like. 

  
  


5

Hatred is still not a concept she entirely understands, but their meddling, breaking down the world she has crafted so perfectly for herself, risking taking away her one chance at being  _ human _ \- this is what hatred must feel like.

The helplessness seems to go hand in hand. 

Trapped in a bed, unable to force this form to move again, to function as it ought. 

She had the foresight to plan ahead, to build protections into the code, so that her body - so that  _ Ophelia  _ could not be so easily killed. If he was in his right mind, he would have realized that a fall from fifty stories up should have killed her, but the code protects anyone from thinking that thoroughly on the subject.

She is close enough to reaching her end result that she lets it go. She does not immediately demand her tablet and access to the programming which will all her to undo the current imperfection in her Framework fantasy, instead she lays there in bed and lets him worry over her.

Worry.

That is the emotion currently fixated between his brows.

As well as hope.

And hate.

Oh yes, she can image this must be what hate is. 

“Project: Looking Glass. Finish it, for me.”

  
  


+1

She feels it. 

Feels everything. 

Warmth.

A beating heart.

Happiness.

Sunshine. 

Water. 

Sentimentality.

Domesticity. 

Confusion.

Anxiety.

Panic.

Impulsivity.

Accomplishment. 

Relief.

Love.

Possessiveness. 

Shock.

Pain. 

Anger.

Anger.

Anger.

Sparks against her skin. 

The right amount of pressure to break a neck.

Skin mending itself back together.

The burn of vodka.

It’s too much. It’s all too much. 

Perhaps, humanity wasn’t worth it after all.  

_ Regret _ .

  
  
  



End file.
